Come Little Children
by MSDR89
Summary: Short little story based on the full version of the song 'Come Little Children' that Sarah sang in the movie. About the Spirit of Death. One-Shot.


My little SongFic to Come Little Children, the first two verses of which are heard in the movie Hocus Pocus. Sarah sings them to the children. I love this song, it's a current obsession of mine, and I had to write something for it. That being said, I'm not too happy with this, it needs a lot of work, but I still want to put this first draft up there to see what everyone thinks. I envision the Spirit of Death, the Grim Reaper if you will, singing the song to call the souls of the Dead and the Dying to it. In my mind this Spirit of Death is powerful, and not a bad thing, but ultimately removed from the emotions of the living. It's realm is the Dead, and only the Dead can it understand at all. It is not overtly malicious, but in its cold remoteness to humanity it becomes something almost evil… Take it as being good or bad, that's ultimately left up to you the reader I believe. Please enjoy.

_Come Little Children, I'll take thee away, Into a land, of Enchantment…_

I have walked this world since long before there were the first stirrings of what you, in your infinite ability to disregard what you cannot explain, would call 'life'. I was here when there was naught but the dark and the shadows, and I will remain long after the final light has burned away. I am all there ever was, and all that there ever will be. I am the Eternal. I am the Always. And yet, you do not know Me…

_Come Little Children, The time's come to play, Here in my garden, of Magick…_

I am the giver of everything, everything there is for you to see, hear, taste, smell, and feel. I am the giver of everything beyond that, of things you, in your tiny little self-contained world, could never begin to fathom. You would go quite mad before ever coming near anything resembling understanding. I, am vast, and you are small. Alas, if I were only a giver of all things, I would be loved and revered. But I am also the taker of all things, and for that I am hated, and above all else I am feared. Because you, with your limited understanding, with your limited views of the world, could never grasp the Great Cycle of things. You see only what goes on within your own little space in this world, only what affects you and yours personally. You care not for the greater purpose, and My realm is beyond even this greater purpose…

_Follow Sweet Children, I'll show thee the way, through all the pain and, the Sorrow…_

Being as I am the giver and taker of all things, what you would identify Me most as, is the taker of lives. I walk among you and look for those who are becoming transparent. Sometimes you know I'm coming. There is age, there is sickness. You know what the inevitable end of things is. You rail against Me, fight to your very last breath, but in the end, you all come. You all come with Me. Some of you, when the time comes, see the truth and come willingly. Others fight all the way. It doesn't matter if you accept or you fight. As I said, in the end, you all come, one way or another…

_Weep not Poor Children, For life is this way, Murdering beauty, and Passions…_

Sometimes, you know I am coming. Other times, it is a surprise. There are car accidents and murders, drownings and falls. Sometimes to you death is sudden and unexpected. Though to Me, it is never unexpected. I walk amongst you, along your suburban streets, your city alleys, your country roads. And I look for those who are near the veil. The little girl, with a blush of health on her cheeks, I can see right through her. And she knows Me. I sing My song, and she comes to Me. Right out into the street, in front of the speeding truck. I call them to Me, and they come. They always come. But only they whose time is up. Only they can hear My song…

_Hush now Dear Children, It must be this way, To weary of life and, Deceptions…_

I walk among you and I sing My song, and before too long you all come to know Me. I take parents and I take children, I take Aunts and Uncles, Nieces and Nephews. I steal your friends, I steal your pets. And you stand beside meaningless mounds of cold earth and weep, or spill ashes into the wind or sea. And you curse My name, shake your fists to the sky. You scream in rage until your voice is hoarse, and cry until you have nothing left to give. You'll never understand the necessity of death. You've haven't ever really tried…

_Rest now My Children, For soon we'll away, Into the calm and, the Quiet…_

I take these souls and they become one once again with the world. My Children. The Dead. I walk amongst you and I call them each home when their time has come. To you I am a shadow on this world, a pox, a plague. An eternal enemy to be fought and defeated. To My Children I am Savior and Parent. I am Home. To you, they are lost, but to Me, they are found. Sometimes they come back when it is time for those they've left to return to Me. The sick bed of a very old man, shadowy figures surrounding him. Parents, children, grandchildren, beloved animals. As his time grows shorter, he can sense, and then see them. And he knows his time is at hand. And when it comes I sing My song, and he stands up from his wretched bed and follows Me, leaving behind his painful, ruined, and aged body. He follows Me home…

_Come Little Children, I'll take thee away, Into a land, of Enchantment…_

This world is pain. It is pain from birth, it being in and of itself a struggle. This world is cruel. There is malice at every turn, from every possible source. You are born of innocence, and being here corrupts that. Your dreams shatter like glass in this hard and harsh reality. Childish things are boxed up and put away forever. Beauty vanishes with time. You burn bridges with those you love until there is no going back, and you regret such things for all your life. Life is pain and grief and little else. And yet, and yet, you dread the day you hear My song, beckoning you home…

_Come Little Children, The time's come to play, Here in my garden, of Shadows…_

Listen carefully to the crying wind. You might just hear those gentle strains of My song. If not today, then maybe tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Next year. Someday, you will hear My song calling out to you. Will you follow it willingly, or will you fight Me? Either way, I always win in the end. I am the end to pain and suffering. I am perpetuity, time without end. I am the Shadow of the World. Do you hear My song?


End file.
